


Matched Set

by blackmoonalcolyte (jomipay)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: But they’re going to figure it out, M/M, Post 179, Sharing a Bed, just really soft, they don’t know what it is yet, zolf gets a nap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/pseuds/blackmoonalcolyte
Summary: He can tell Zolf is tired, can see it in the slump of his shoulders and the heaviness of his movements. Wilde looks around, everyone is preoccupied at the moment and he doesn’t think they’ll be missed.He leans into Zolf, bending to murmur quietly near his ear, “This is not a comment on your appearance, which I adore always, but you look dead on your feet.”Zolf gives a humpf and then leans into him, ever so slightly.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	Matched Set

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings.

He can tell Zolf is tired, can see it in the slump of his shoulders and the heaviness of his movements. Wilde looks around, everyone is preoccupied at the moment and he doesn’t think they’ll be missed. 

He leans into Zolf, bending to murmur quietly near his ear, “This is not a comment on your appearance, which I adore always, but you look dead on your feet.”

Zolf gives a  _ humpf _ and then leans into him, ever so slightly. The heat of Zolf’s body against his is thrilling and comforting in equal measure. It’s still early. The sun has only just begun to set, but Zolf is tired, and Wilde is loath to be without him for the indeterminate amount of time he may sleep for. Wilde stands and offers a hand down to Zolf to heave him to his feet. 

“Let’s go get you a nap, hmm?” Zolf nods and blinks blearily. 

“Yeah, alright.”

They walk a distance away from the group before Wilde slings an arm around Zolf’s shoulders. He is delighted when Zolf loops an arm around his waist in return. They knock against each other as they make their way to the bunkhouse. Wilde goes to the bunk he’d been sleeping in, the one Zolf had been keeping vigil over. He climbs in and scoots until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, turning the covers down and gesturing for Zolf to follow. 

“If that’s alright with you.” He’s suddenly unsure about whether this might be too forward. He’s just drunk on the idea of holding the person he loves in his arms, no matter what shape that love ends up taking.

Zolf quirks his lips. “Yeah, ‘course it’s alright.”

Wilde makes room between his legs and Zolf curls up in the space there, pillowing his head against Wilde’s chest and allowing Wilde to wrap his arms around him. Zolf signs contentedly and relaxes into the embrace, hugging Wilde’s torso. Wilde resists the urge to drop a kiss to his hair. He doesn’t want to mess this up. He cares about it too much.

Zolf is restless for a while, fidgeting and shifting. 

“Are you comfortable? I can leave you to it if this isn’t working.”

Zolf tightens his arms around Wilde in response. 

“Just a lot to process.”

“Mmm.” Wilde hums.

He spots the Campbell on the chair. “I could read to you, if you’d like, or I could,” Wilde licks his lips, hesitates, “I could sing something for you.”

He doesn’t miss the hitch in Zolf’s breathing, slight as it is. Zolf turns his face into his chest, hiding whatever expression has overtaken it. 

“Yeah okay,” Zolf says, slyly gazing up at him, “sing me a lullaby, then.”

Wilde leans his head back against the headboard, slouches down so that Zolf is laying against him in a more horizontal position. He scans his memory for something calm and soothing to sing. He settles on something he hasn’t sung in years, though he could never forget the words. Something his mother used to sing to him when he woke in the night and could not get back to sleep.

It’s in Gaelic, and feeling the words leaving his mouth, the vibration of his vocal cords, hearing the lilt of his voice, is almost overwhelming. It fills him with a kind of homesickness that is quickly quelled when he realizes that he’s holding his home. It’s right here in his arms and he’s singing him to sleep. 

Zolf’s eyes drift closed and his breathing begins to slow as the song continues. Wilde repeats verses until he’s certain Zolf is asleep, breathing deep and even, and body relaxed against his chest. When he finally finishes, he does drop a kiss to his forehead, against the hair that now matches his own. They’ve always been a pair, a matched set, and now they look the part. Maybe they even feel the part, too.

**Author's Note:**

> They deserve a nap. And snuggles if they so desire.


End file.
